Author Archives: Zach Zimmerman

Bog Swamp

by Zach Zimmerman

      Tessa ran through the dank, dim swamp. Dark, twisted trees and muddy water surrounded her in a tangled mess. She didn’t know which way to go, but she dodged wet monkey vines as she ran from the monsters that had attacked her group’s camp. Mud and green sludge covered her dark skin, white skirt, pink t-shirt and bare feet. About seventeen, and pretty to most, she kept her curly black hair short for summer. Bastards! I loved this outfit too!  Their groans and clicking noises were getting closer.
      A slimy green hand grabbed her shoulder. Tessa slipped its grasp, only to fall backwards into a mud pit. Her assailant stood on the twisted tree root she had tripped over. The sun peeked through the swamp’s tangled tree tops, giving Tessa just enough light to see the five foot frog that stood like a man.
      Its yellow spotted eyes bulged to either side of its light green face, its underbelly was even paler. It wore a leather loincloth and held a dark wooden club. It croaked loudly into the air as he raised his club. Fuck, I’m going to be killed by something that eats flies.
      There was a flash of light. Tessa closed her eyes, assuming she had died before she knew it. She peeked an eye open. The frogman’s torso now had a deep gash in it, blood and guts spilling out. Oh no. She felt another presence to her right. Slowly she turned to it.
      It wore a dark green cloak with spots of swamp fluids spread throughout. Whoever it was had taken a knee after killing the frogman, and she could see his gloved hand wiping the muck and blood off of a shiny broadsword with his cloak. His voice was deeper than she expected from a man so short, “Are you alright my lady?”
      Tessa wanted to thank him, but the menacing croaks and ribbits of more frogmen approached. She looked back at her savior; he stopped cleaning his sword and turned to face her. Three or more different leathers were stitched together for pants. Tessa thought they were hideous, but she thought his loose, tan shirt was easy to look at. Then he pulled his hood back. Another frogman?! She felt around the puddle and pulled out her dead pursuer’s club.
      The new one had blue spotted eyes with a scar that had nearly stolen his right eye. In a blink, he lunged his sword at her, spun her club from her grip and caught it with his free hand. He offered it back and told her, “Come with me if you want to live.”
      What did I get into? She retook her new club and again, before she could process the movement, he held her around the waist. At least he’s wearing clothes. Tessa felt safe somehow, but she still squeaked, “Shit!” when he leapt from tree to tree, further into the swamp.

      Tessa sat on the far side of the hut. Her savior had offered her a double-barrel shotgun and she accepted. She didn’t care for shell-guns. Energy weapons were so much sleeker, lighter and in her opinion, more reliable.
      The gun felt awkward in her hands, and she scared herself when she broke the gun open. There were two rusty shells loaded, but she couldn’t remember how to tell if a gun shell was used or not. The swordsman frog watched her. He’d know if the shells were good or not, right? She yelped when she snapped it back together. Damn guns.
      The hut floor was covered in eight different rugs. Welcome mats, rubber sheets, animal skins and a few carpets were jammed together like a sloppy puzzle. I guess he can’t be picky. He had a small fire in the center of the hut, keeping some kind of soup at a simmer. His face was strange enough to look at; Tessa was glad he kept his gloves on.
      The walls curved around into an uneven circle, about ten feet in diameter, supporting a roof of loosely thatched branches and moss. I wonder where the savage frogs would’ve taken me.
      She could stand comfortably, even if her frog friend was a bit shorter. He had a wooden table with a metal folding chair and even a two-cushion couch along the other wall. A plastic cooler on wheels served as his current seat; she used the metal chair. Manners too, huh? Tessa liked the smell of the dark brown soup more than she thought she would. More than food though, she wanted answers. She set her gun on the table and spun it to point to the door. “So… Am I the only one that got away?”
      The frog pursed his lips and nodded to the floor.
Shit. “Well, I’m Dr. Tessa Weyland.” She forced her hand out for a handshake. “You can call me Tess.” He’s wearing gloves. He’s wearing gloves.
      He took his hand from the wooden spoon and shook her hand, “Eric.”
      Any other day she would’ve giggled at how he made a “ribbit” noise with his name. It was still funny to her, but the murderous frogmen from earlier had ruined it. She pretended to straighten her skirt to wipe her hand off, to hide it from Eric. “So Eric… you’re going to let me leave right?”
      He dipped his head back down and stirred the soup again. “Whenever you want.”
      Sad puppy much? “Oh! It’s not like I’m not grateful! I just want to make sure you’re not like the—other—frogs.”
      Eric looked disgusted and spit to the side. More under his breath than to Tessa, he said, “I’m nothing like them.”
      “Sorry.” She watched him pour clumps of meat and something green and stringy plop into a tin can. Faking a smile, she accepted the stew. It looked better when I couldn’t see it. “I’d hate to ask so soon—”
      “But?” He kept his eyes on his food.
      “How do I get to the west side of the swamp? I have to let my brothers know I’m safe, and tell others what happened to the rest.”
      Eric sighed. “The swamp lets you in, but nothing escapes.”
      “Oh come on! You cut that other frog easier than bread! What could possibly be worse out here?”
      “Alligator women, fungal zombies, mutant leeches, carnivorous trees, a wyrm, moving puddles, an evil swamp-thing and giant mosquitoes.”
      Did he mean ‘giant worm’? Tessa tilted her head, “Oh, is that all?”
      “No. The swamp itself is alive. Always changing its rivers’ directions and levels, changing the earth, and it attacks your very mind.”
      “So I’m stuck here forever?”
      “I’m afraid so my lady.”
      Why can’t he be a human? Callin’ me ‘lady’ like that… He’d be so cute, instead of so… ew. Tessa cleared her throat, “What about the flying machine? Have you seen it?”
      “Tis’ a blessing to see the sun most days.”
      “Well, it crashed in here a few days ago. That’s actually what we were doing in here.” She looked down at her soup, remembering how the rest of her group was attacked.
      Eric rubbed his chin and took a swallow from his tin cup. “What does it look like?”
      “Like a big, white boat with six stubby wings.”
      Eric narrowed his already-narrow eyes. “I have seen it then, but it does not appear air-worthy.”
      Tessa’s eyes shot open, “Can you take me there?”
      He shrugged, “As you wish.”
      She was a bit surprised. “Oh.”
      “What?”
      “I just—I thought you’d be all chivalrous and say ‘No my lady.’”
      “When you’re stuck in a swamp forever, the smallest chance of escape is difficult to pass up.” He smirked and added, “And I’ll protect you, my lady.”

      Tessa figured they were about ten minutes into their journey, and she was glad she didn’t eat too much soup. Every leap and landing bounced her stomach up and down from throat to groin. She tried to be grateful for the faster transport, but her gut wasn’t. Would Eric notice vomit on his cloak?
      She’d never admit it to anyone, but she was rather comfortable in Eric’s arms now. Tessa knew she was light, but she was still surprised by how effortlessly Eric hopped her around.
      Eric asked, “So what kind of doctor are you Tessa?”
      “I’m an MT.” She noticed his hairless brows contort. “Oh, mech technician. My group studies mech tech. We repair, reverse engineer, recycle and you know, whatever with it.”
      “I presumed doctors to be elderly. You are quite lovely—lively!” He darted his attention back to the swamp.
      Awww! “I’m good at what I do, but hopefully it doesn’t need that much work.”
      “Let us hope then.”
      They stopped a few times for Eric to try and remember where the ship fell. “The swamp changes constantly, but the flying boat shouldn’t move too quickly.” Tessa was just happy they didn’t run into any trouble. They saw an alligator and large spiders, and Eric easily snuck them past a small frogman camp. Tessa didn’t care for the gun in her hands, but she still wished she had more than two shells.

      “That’s it!” Tessa kept her voice down, but not her excitement. The white sun sailor was submerged in swamp up to its wings. Slimy green vines made their way up the hull from the water, blocking round windows and latching to the deck above. Branches and monkey vines also slid their way onboard. Looks like the swamp wants to keep its new toy…
      Eric made one final leap onto the slippery, polymer deck. Tessa slid from his grasp onto her feet. It looked much like a fifty-foot long, white boat. The deck was slightly covered with splinters of broken branches, moss and leaves. Tessa looked up and saw beautiful blue sky from where the ship crashed through the swamp’s canopy. Also on deck were two mounted laser guns on each side. There was a single door towards the bow, leading into the ship’s cabin. Panel windows ran around the cabin from waist to head level, but it was still difficult to see inside.
      Eric stayed close behind her, “What brought her down?”
      Tessa led Eric to the command deck. “That’s one reason we—were looking for it.” She kept her shotgun tight as she grabbed the solid white door. “Ready?” Eric drew his sword and jumped ahead of Tessa right as she opened the door. “Great teamwork…”
      She stepped inside to no one but Eric. Command panels lined the walls, all white with jet black, angled covers. They’d look pretty plain until the power turned back on. Tessa slowly approached the helm. Two thin white podiums rose to waist height, with the tops smoothed over in spotless black orbs. Start-up systems should be… there!
      To the front right corner, she saw the key in the ignition. It looked like an elongated, shiny white chicken egg, perfectly symmetrical. She pulled it from the panel, two dull parallel prongs as small as Tessa’s pinky protruded. “Dammit.” She turned to Eric. “Now I know why it crashed.”
      Eric was still studying the cabin, and a ladder that led up and down behind the helm. “Why?”
      “You see this key here? The brighter these emitters, the more power they hold.”
It took him a second, but he nodded, “And there’s no light at all.”
Tessa sighed and remembered the guns on deck. “Hmm. Let’s see if the guns are networked to the power hub or not.”
      “Uh, sure.”
      It just hit her, He probably has no idea what this stuff is. “You do know what mech tech is right?” She tried not to smile as she walked backwards to the cabin door. Then he nearly killed her with a heart attack. He lunged his sword by her head, into a savage frogman’s eye.
      She panicked and fired her shotgun into its gut. The frog was blown away, but so was the gun. The recoil sent the gun back into Eric.
      The swordsman frog was holding his stomach, the gun resting at his feet. “Oww.”
      “I’m so sorry Eric!”
      “Stay here!”
      He closed the door as he ran to the deck. Tessa caught movement to the left. A dozen savage frogs were making their way onboard. Through the glass, she watched as Eric quickly became outnumbered. She tried to rush out, but the door was jammed. “Come on! What the hell?!” She took a breath and saw that the shotgun on the other side was slid into the door handle so it couldn’t be opened. Goddamn men.
      Tessa quickly scanned the spotless interior. No sign of anything she could even improvise for a weapon. She recognized an empty weapon rack beside the ladder. Then she jumped on the ladder and went to the upper deck. It was cramped, but it was a gunner cockpit. “Yes!” She jumped into the seat and the gun turned on.
      It was a perfect sphere with easy to use controls for swiveling the turret and finding targets, and it all turned on when she sat in the seat. “Hot damn!” With two joysticks in hand, she moved them left to aim back at the deck. It didn’t even turn. “Damn.” To the right, it only moved far enough to be caught in monkey vines. The four barrels were barely two feet long past the cockpit, but they were just long enough to be caught in the vegetation. “Double damn!”
      Okay, think! Gun works, seat mechanism works. It’s not networked, so the deck guns shouldn’t be networked. Right? She turned a few knobs, popped a few compartments and pulled a few wires from the turret and seat. Then she slowly pulled another ignition key from the gun. The two prongs glowed bright green.
      “Dammit!” Green is for plasma bursts and low-level tech. She tried to remember what her teacher said, and she was positive a green key wouldn’t run the ship. Plasma’s only good for weapons, right? She paused. “Right.” She looked over her shoulder and saw Eric losing the fight. Think woman! She looked at the chrome turret and pulled the dead key from her pocket. Should work, right?

      Tessa cut off the door knob like paper with her invention. A skinny rod about three feet long, with the dead key crudely fused at the end. The rod protruded from the end of one of the turret barrels she had disassembled. And below the barrel’s other end was the hastily inserted plasma key. She shoved her elbow into the door and knocked it open.
      Half the frogs that weren’t crowding Eric looked in her direction. Green, uneven light rippled along the rod to the cap, and back to the key. She held the plasma blade comfortably, but her knees were shaking. Okay, I don’t have to win, I just have to get some pressure off of Eric. “Come get some!”
      A few more frogs turned from Eric, and a few more jumped on deck around Tessa. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Okay, what do I know about sword-fighting? Not much. A blue-green frog croaked and charged her from the side. Tessa turned and swung wildly. It ducked under the blade and pounded a club to her stomach. She nearly dropped her weapon, but Tessa gritted her teeth and focused.
      The young scientist spun to the ground, and with the back of her bare heel, she tripped the frog and slammed her plasma blade through its face. The cap bounced off the deck, but the blade cut him in half from hip to eye. In another break-dance move, she spun herself to her feet and held her weapon in two hands. Okay, no one gets to make fun of my dancing anymore.
      She swore she could see caution in the frogs’ eyes now, but they weren’t backing off. Another charged her with a spear. Tessa twirled on her tiptoes and used the momentum to both dodge with a midair jump, and cut through the frog like a blender from the side. Disbelief washed over her. “Holy shit!”
      Two frogs pushed each other back and forth towards Tessa. She pulled her blade back like a baseball bat. Finally the two charged together, flanking her left and right in an instant. She rolled forward to dodge the club and hatchet. She slid to her feet and barely did a back flip in time to dodge a third frog attack. Now I’m getting outnumbered… but Eric’s still getting beat down.
      Tessa was near the edge of the deck. Six frogs formed a semicircle around her, and the laser turret she wanted to get to. She swung the blade at them, barely warding them off. That’s enough space. Spinning back to the turret, she grabbed the turret handle and cut it off of its base with the plasma blade. A bit heavier than I thought. Again she swung her weapon to buy some space, but this time she followed up by shooting a barrage of red lasers from the light, unmounted turret. Their croaks turned to cries of pain, one of them even caught aflame.
      Now all frogs on deck and off looked at Tessa. She propped the gun’s barrel across her sword wrist, it was the only way she could hold it steadily. The flaming frog jumped far over Tessa and into the swamp water. She turned to the frogs surrounding Eric, and pulled the trigger until it was just him. Now they were all off the deck, but not retreating. She turned off the plasma blade and put a hand on Eric, face down; barely breathing.
      “Come on Eric! We need to get out of here, now!” She gently rolled him on his back. His chin slowly expanded with each breath, a subtle, raspy croak sounded out. Tessa looked back at the surrounding frogs, but they were gone.
      His voice was quiet, “How many did I best?”
      Tessa smiled wide and hugged him tight. “It doesn’t matter. I got more.”
      She laughed after she made him laugh, but she could hear the pain in his voice. “Doctor, I’d like to kiss you for saving my life.”
      Tessa felt her cheeks flush, but she let go and looked into his weird, pretty blue eyes. She smiled a bit wider and furrowed her brows. “Alright, but… you’re so damned ugly.”
      She leaned down as he pushed his head up, and they kissed.

End

Forget that Dimension!

by Zach Zimmerman

Barry hummed as he concentrated, “Take my love, take my land, take me where I cannot stand.”

The dirty technician fine tuned two gigantic knobs at once. The fate of the rest of his fellow man laid on him. Three hundred or less citizens took shelter in the beaten down bomb shelter. The surface was crawling with hard-shelled spider-like aliens, eating the few humans and animals that survived the initial invasion. The foot soldiers carried weapons that would burn anything short of steel in a few seconds.

Barry was lucky enough to have been stationed in area fifty-one when they arrived. He was part of Project Stargate; trying to open a man-made rift into other, habitable dimensions. Each combination of knobs and a few hundred switches were used to tune in to specific frequencies. He could also open a rift for a few minutes, but he only had enough power to keep one open long enough for an evacuation.

He wasn’t even the project leader. Barry was in mid-training for the enormous blue sphere and its primitive controls. Luckily the glowing ball gave enough light to fill the room, so he saved precious energy for his light bill. Still, he whipped out a flashlight for more precise readings on the instruments spread throughout the decent sized lab.

Colonel Amanda Sans entered, “Any progress doc?”

“You know I’m just a tech right? The real doc never made it back to work.”

“I’m aware. So, any progress?”

Barry sighed and twisted around to his personal refrigerator. He pulled off seven pictures and described each, “Here, we got two deserts, one with a constant sulfur storm, the other with a white dwarf for a sun. Here’s a forest with ammonia-based life—”

“That’s bad right?”

“Only if you want to breathe there. That one, sent a drone through to confirm that at least half the planet is covered in very active volcanoes. This jungle could be colonized, if the trees don’t like the taste of humans.”

The colonel shook her head, “Skip.”

“Now this one, is identical to our Earth, but it looks like another kind of alien species wiped out another kind of alien race.”

“Would they like us?”

“They shot our drone on sight, smelled the camera, and ate it.”

“What about this last one? It’s all black.”

“I’m not sure, I got a lot of positive atmospheric readings, but I’m going to send a drone with night vision.”

“Well, it looks like you’re getting closer. Keep up the good work.” The colonel handed the pictures back and nodded before leaving.

Barry looked at the last picture. I got a good feeling about you.

***

Cindy sat at the edge of her bed, hunching forward as she concentrated. At that moment, she had nothing to say or yell into her headset. Her fingers and thumbs had become one with her controls. Left! She threw a knife into the kid that sounded way too young to be playing a Mature-rated game. “How’d that feel you little bastard?!”

Enemy fire to her rear. She swung the analog sticks and jumped right, then she scored a headshot in midair. “Holy shit! Did anyone else see that?”

Crash! Slam! Cindy dove off the bed to the mostly clean carpet. Something as big as a softball put a hole in her closet door. She inched herself over the bed to see a dirty chrome sphere half planted in her wall. Cindy dropped the controller and grabbed an empty beer bottle for a weapon. She still flinched when the metal ball popped free and hovered a few feet in front of her.

“Holy shit!”

The orb twirled a lens to Cindy, then opened up with a dozen kinds of probes, lights and syringes. Cindy hurled the bottle at the drone and ducked behind her bed for a baseball bat. “Stay away!”

A pale man in a dirty lab coat entered from the closet. “No need to panic!”

“Ahhhhhh!”

Barry punched a few buttons on some kind of PDA, causing the drone to clamp shut, and hover back into the closet. “Is that better?”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“I’m Barry, kind of a scientist. And I need your help.”

***

About ten minutes of talking had finally gotten Cindy to calm down. Barry was still asking about major differences in their worlds. It all sounded fine until Barry glanced at the DVD and Blu ray shelves. “Cindy, I see you only have one season of Firefly.”

“Oh, it got cancelled after thirteen episodes.”

Barry’s face paled. “You told me you didn’t have an apocalypse here.”

“Wait, what?”

Barry was already moving back to the closet, “The only thing that keeps my people going, is knowing that President Whedon will continue to bring us the best damned television we’ve ever known. I didn’t even watch the season ten finale before coming here!”

“Take me with you!”

***

Colonel Sans entered Barry’s lab and rested her palm on the pistol at her hip. “What’s this?”

Barry stopped in his tracks, ready to throw a small box into the rift sphere. “This world needs our help. Every show that keeps our people motivated has been cancelled in there.”

“Is there a hostile alien invasion on the other side?”

“Just humans.”

“Exactly like us?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how about we evacuate and bring everything with us?”

Barry felt a little stupid, “I guess that’s a better plan.”

 

 

Fixin’ for Love

by Zach Zimmerman

CMU-1029 was a hulking, tank-thick medical droid. It lumbered at twelve feet tall, mostly proportional to a human, covered in chipped and scratched white paint. The red cross on its back was taking heavy fire, but it had to protect Rob. The mechanic had taken a shot just above his knee, a projectile meant to damage battle mechs. There was nothing but blood and ripped muscle below the thigh. The two of them were too exposed at the peak of the turret camp.

Rob had repaired 1029 six times in the field, fourteen times in the hangar bay, and provided thirty-two maintenance service checks in the span of fifty-two days. 1029 concluded that Rob had looked over it even before it was self-aware.

It scanned the frozen, yellow cratered terrain. Two hundred and eleven feet down the slope, ninety-one feet left. The medical bot scooped Rob up and ran its course to the best spot of concealment and cover. Most of the ice either exploded or melted around the battlefield, depending on which weapons were being used. 1029’s right leg was creaking loose, but it changed its priorities to keep Rob safe.

It ran behind heavier combat units and their maintenance crews. 1029 saw multiple injuries on the other pilots, but Rob was more important. Not imperative to the battle in any way, but 1029 cared about him. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did.

A heavy projectile slammed into 1029’s side, and as it caught its balance, another shot hit just under its left armpit. The machine forced extra algorithms to regain balance from losing its arm.

1029 slid behind the cover it planned for. Its right knee twisted beyond Rob’s abilities to fix. Even if it felt pain, it would’ve been nothing if Rob died. The scruffy young man rolled out of reach. 1029 crawled through the yellow, ashy snow on its two arms and one good leg. It wished it could talk, just to comfort Rob.

It noticed Rob staring at it. Through the pained expression, 1029 registered confusion. He asked, “What are you doing?”

It crawled on its side until it laid beside Rob. It examined the thick blood trail leading to Rob’s stub.

“I can’t fix you 1029.”

It didn’t care. The machine ran its inventory. The anesthetic tank was ruptured, its cauterizing plate couldn’t heat up to peak performance, and the last of the morphine was in its severed arm.

1029 received an order: RETURN TO FRONT LINE. TWO MECHANICS DOWN. It couldn’t fight its orders. It rolled on its side and sat up. Two GPS dots popped up in its heads-up display.

The white tank rolled forward like a tire until it got to its arm. Rob needs me. 1029 hacked its own programming, and rolled its way back to Rob.

The communications officers off planet tried to override 1029, but it fought back. It sprayed the last of the anesthetic to Rob’s stub, injected another booster shot to fight any alien infections, and rerouted critical battery power to the cauterizing plate.

The officers began to upload a virus to 1029. The machine tore into its severed arm until it found a morphine syringe. The virus took root as the morphine went into Rob. 1029 reached behind its head and tore out its communications router.

Rob’s eyes were starting to close. 1029’s functions were beginning to cripple. Cauterization heat at one hundred degrees Celsius. The robot shoved the hot plate to Rob’s stub, followed by an instant scream.

1029 fought to keep its visual functions. As its limb and diagnostics froze into paralysis, it fought to make sure Rob was okay. The mechanic passed out, but 1029 couldn’t tell if it was from shock, or death.

Everything went black. Rob.

 

 

Posted in: War |

End of a Cycle

by Zach Zimmerman

Henry cranked his tiny flashlight in panic. The hell was that? Clutching to a pillar in the dark, the naked man turned the flashlight back on. The light shined on a naked corpse. The body looked just like Henry, pale, blonde, but no bellybutton. He didn’t want to, but he felt for his own, and couldn’t find it. What is this?

Shuffling footsteps on the smooth concrete echoed in the dark. Henry turned the light in time to see himself, charging with a metal baseball bat. Henry held out his hand, “Wait!”

***

Henry cringed from the sound the bat made against the other man’s skull. Henry’s eyes adjusted from the blinding flashlight. He knelt down and took it from his dead victim. Poor bastard just got here.

Henry shined the other Henry’s flashlight around. Yet another clone lay a few feet from the victim. Am I getting closer? Henry looked around the second body. This clone cut his wrists with a shaving razor. Bastard.

The flashlight did little to comfort Henry. Without it, his senses focused in every direction. He had killed four other clones in self defense. It seemed their creator gave a few clones just enough food to keep a few alive. Just enough to kill for.

He decided to keep the flashlight, but turned it off. The others he used were full of dead batteries now. The aluminum bat floated ahead like a blind man’s cane, but he dare not tap the ground and attract more attention.

Sharp smells stung his nose. What is that? He readied his bat in one hand, and turned on the flashlight with the other. One clone was hunched over a dead one. Shit! Henry turned the light back off, but the clone still fired a shot from a shiny little pistol.

Must’ve smelt the gunpowder. Henry took a knee. The clone had shot him in the gut. Through the deafening ring, Henry made out faint footsteps approaching. His grip on the bat was loosening. “You know we’re clones right?”

***

“Yep.”

Henry had snuck his way behind the clone with the flashlight. Immediately after answering, he pushed the gun to the back of the other Henry’s head and pulled the trigger. He thought to himself, You know we get a food drop after ten kills?

Henry’s gut was in knots. Even if their creator followed through with her promise, Henry wouldn’t be hungry. Something pinched his neck. By the time he reached for it, everything went black.

Warmth and light woke Henry up. Dizziness slowly faded as he looked around the red room. He was wearing khakis, shoes, and a black polo shirt. Henry knew this was the first time his body wore clothes, but it felt like something he was used to.

Mindy sat on the other end of a six foot dinning table. There were no windows except for a skylight. The sun was at high noon, but the window was fogged over.

His nose forced him back to the table. Smoked barbecue ribs, corn on the cob smothered in butter, and red skinned mashed potatoes sat on a single plate. Inside a rolled white napkin was a spoon, fork, and steak knife. Mindy was already eating from her own dish. She was still beautiful, but older than Henry remembered. Her dark hair had strands of gray. Wrinkles formed at the edges of her mouth and eyes. She used to be younger than Henry, but she still fit the yellow sundress she wore when they first met.

She pointed to the food. “Eat up. You got to number ten.”

The food smelled great, but his stomach couldn’t handle it. “Why?”

“You tell me. Why did you mercilessly kill yourself ten times?”

Henry just stared.

Mindy tilted her head from side to side with a slight grin. “I know what you mean, but that doesn’t mean you get an answer.”

Henry unwrapped his silverware and grabbed the steak knife. “Why?”

“Oh, so scary.”

Henry jumped from his seat and ran across the table. Mindy calmly swallowed some potato soup, before Henry stabbed her six times. Three in the chest, one in the neck, and two in the face.

Henry caught his breath as he pushed himself away from the bloody mess. A door opened from behind Henry’s chair. He snapped his attention to another Mindy. She shot him.

***

Henry looked down at his khakis, shoes, and blue polo shirt. Twenty kills got him back to the red room. He savored every bite of his barbecue ribs. Mindy entered from the door behind him.

“Sorry dear, I had another one try to kill me again.”

He kept a straight face. “When will they learn?”

Mindy chuckled as she took her seat. “So tell me Henry, how are the ribs?”

“Even better the second time.”

Mindy rested her chin in her fist. “Henry, just tell me.”

Henry kept his eyes closed, and his mouth chewing. After taking his time to swallow, he replied, “Why?”

“Because I want to hear it.”

Henry smirked to the side and shook his head. “Because you think I deserve this. You think this is the worst punishment you can give me. And it’s pretty close Min.”

Mindy smiled even wider and leaned in. “Oh? I’m not doing good enough?”

“No.”

Mindy propped her pistol on the table. Henry didn’t flinch. She cocked the hammer, but he still didn’t react. “Even if I kill you now? And you’re the only one that makes it this far? You’re okay with it all?”

“Mindy, we both know I’m not the only one that’s made it to twenty kills.”

She stopped smiling. “What? How could you know that?”

“We’re getting stronger, Min. Or, maybe your programming is getting weaker. Some of us can fight the urge to kill on sight now,” he chuckled between bites. “On sight. Like we can see a damn thing down there.”

Mindy fired a shot just above Henry’s head. “No! You don’t get to win!”

Henry took his time with his ribs. “Looks like I can.”

Mindy walked around the table and put the gun to Henry’s head. “I am going to watch you die for the rest of eternity. You don’t win.”

Henry pushed the chair backwards, Mindy pulled the trigger in panic. He twisted Mindy to the floor and put the gun under her chin. Another Mindy burst through the only door in the room, but Henry shot her three times before she could see him under the table. He scampered across the floor and carefully exited to the outside light.

***

Bearded Henry laid on the couch with Mindy in his arms, wearing their after-work clothes. The white living room looked sterile except for a brown throw rug under a glass and metal coffee table. The couple watched a special about black market organs.

Henry shook his head. “Why are people still stealing organs?”

“Not everyone can afford to clone their own tissue Henry.”

“I guess.”

Ding dong. Mindy started to get up, but Henry shot up past her. “Too slow.”

Mindy rolled her eyes with a smile and laid back down. “Want me to pause it?”

Henry was already opening the front door. “Let it play.”

Beneath the setting sun, a gun barrel stared at Henry. But he was more shocked to see himself holding the gun. Before he could ask, the clone said, “Pull up your shirt.”

Confused and horrified, Henry pulled his shirt past his belly button.

“Okay. Where’s Mindy?”

“What’s happening here?”

The clone pushed Henry into the house; to the kitchen floor.

“Stop! Wait!”

The clone dragged Henry into the living room. Mindy went for a nightstand, but the clone shot at it. Mindy dropped back into the couch, and the clone threw Henry on top of her. “How could you do this to me?!”

Henry shielded Mindy behind his back, “Do what to you?!”

The clone circled around to the nightstand, keeping his gun on Mindy. “Guess she didn’t tell you Henry. You’ve been cloned. A lot.” He reached under the nightstand and took out the hidden gun.

Henry kept in front of Mindy;  his eyes on the clone. “What’s he talking about?”

She started crying, “He wasn’t supposed to get out.”

Henry got up and backed away from her. “The hell were you cloning me for, Min?!”

The clone answered for her, “She made a bunch of us, with the added incentive to kill each other. Probably stole some bio-engineering tools from work for extra brainwashing.”

Mindy yelled at the two of them, “You think that’s any worse than what you did?” She focused on the younger clone. “I just found out he was cloning random women for his own personal sex dolls. Guess what happened to them when he was finished.”

Henry tried to fix it, “No babe! They were just cloned for their organs! They were gonna kill them anyway!”

The clone put the gun to Henry’s head, “Tell me that’s a lie. I wouldn’t do that.”

Henry gritted his teeth, “Bullshit. You are me! Just a few years behind by the look of it.” He turned back to Mindy, “So how long ago did you start copying me for Thunderdome?”

The clone pushed the barrel against Henry’s head, and aimed the other at Mindy. “Clones aren’t playthings! We both… all… You two took an oath! To treat clones like normal people!” They both begged, but the clone said, “How does it feel?” He pulled both triggers.

Recall is Crap!

by Zach Zimmerman

Doug Binder stepped between the futon and coffee table, keeping a hand on the brim of his smokestack hat. He laid his briefcase on the table full of pizza boxes, porn mags, ashtrays, and beer cans. He put his cigarette between his pinky and ring finger to apply his thumbprints to the ID locks. Through a sly smile he asked, “What have you always dreamed of Georgy-boy?”

The middle-aged man in sweatpants and bathrobe scratched his balding scalp. His apartment was no more than ten by ten feet, with added room for a smaller kitchen and bathroom. The futon the two men sat on was still in bed mode. “Um, I always wanted to be rich.”

Doug blew through his lips and waved a limp wrist. “Come on George! That’s what everyone wants! How ’bout when you were a kid?”

George smiled coyly, “A rodeo clown.”

Doug waved a firmer wrist and mimicked a spit, “Rodeo clown?! That’s crap! You don’t want to get your clock cleaned by a half-ton, horned demon horse! If you don’t like what I’m sellin’, I’ll personally buy you a plane ticket to the boonies so you can hitchhike your way to a rodeo. Those rednecks will throw you in the ring for free. Listen! I’m offering you the chance to own a harem with a pool full of tequila!”

“That sounds painful.”

“You’re missin’ the point Georgy-boy.” Doug opened the case with a decent sized monitor, keyboard, and a coil of cable with tiny barbs lining the inside of the roll. “I can give you the world. As much as you want.”

George looked concerned, “You’re gonna wrap a hundred needles around my head?”

“The cable is just to apply the tiny, tiny barbs into your scalp, and take them out the next time you wrap it around your head.” Doug slapped the table, “The boys and girls down at Recall jam a needle from your wrist to your elbow. Then they zap your brain full of irradiated electro-pulses. Does that sound any better?”

“Maybe?”

Doug laughed before faking another spit and pointing a finger, “Recall is crap! They charge quadruple my rate! And you only get a few days of a fake memory.” He waved over his briefcase, “Now this! You can have a perfect world every day!”

“Okay, how does it work?”

“All right, you know how you’ll just blank out on your way to work? Like you fell asleep the whole way, and BAM! You’re at work!”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Well that’s just our brains’ natural form of hypnosis. Now my fully adjustable dream crown will use that natural hypnosis, and amplify it.”

“Like sleepwalking?”

“Sleepwalking?! That’s cr—well, yeah. Your body will do whatever it needs to do for the day: paper work, eating lunch, even talking to your boss! And by the time you get home, the dream crown convinces your brain that you did whatever you wanted to do.”

“Wow! That is better than Recall!”

“Recall’s cr—I mean exactly! So how bout it Georgy? Two weeks free trial.”

***

Doug jumped in the back of his van. Computer towers lined every side; he could only enter and exit from the rear doors. Four monitors surrounded Doug’s stool in a semicircle. Every monitor was a live visual feed, with a name in the bottom corner. The clear right bottom monitor rebooted, and read George Simmons.

George was walking down a busy street with shoulder to shoulder pedestrians in raincoats and umbrellas. Doug spun around to three computers hooked up to George’s dream crown.

Doug cracked his fingers and pulled out three keyboards. “All right people. Let’s rob a bank!”

***

George stepped into a cab, “Fourth and Grant.” In his mind, George was dressed head to toe in a colorful cowboy outfit. In a mirror, he was going back and forth between different clown makeup styles.

Dennis cleaned his glasses as he stepped in from the rain. The bank lobby was vast and full of people. Clerks lined the walls, with guards standing in every corner. Dennis daydreamed of walking through a bar full of beautiful, shirtless men, all giving him approving eyes. In reality, he never knew he was carrying stun grenades under his raincoat.

Tiffany mindlessly assembled a non-lethal sonic solidifier on the bank roof. Her dream crown gave her the vision of powdering her face in a fancy bathroom mirror. Legs peeked through her seductive black dress.

Sandra was in the bank vault with a teller, searching for her lock box. Sandra stabbed a needle into the teller’s neck and eased him to the floor. Her daydream had her wrestling an alligator in the mud.

George got out of the taxi and into the bank. He carried a palm scanner like a tablet, setting up a bypass program. He walked backstage, tipping his hat to the other rodeo clowns. Management dropped off a new barrel for George to wear.

Dennis reached under his coat, pulled a pin, and tossed a stun grenade in the air. A handsome stranger put an arm around Dennis, and offered a wine bottle. Dennis blushed as he popped the cork, and turned the bar into an upheaval of cheers.

The guards were as blind as everyone else. Tiffany descended from a rope through the glass ceiling. She spun like a ballerina, and shot a shockwave into each guard, knocking them unconscious. The man from the underwear commercials spun Tiffany around in a magnificent tango. Spins weaved together with expertly placed steps and bows. She spat the rose from her mouth and Frenched the model.

A few tellers fumbled their way to the secret alarm buttons under their desks. As an emergency measure, the main bank vault started to close. Sandra was already placing her unconscious teller’s palm against an emergency override panel. The vault stayed wide open. Muddy Sandra dragged the gator over to her husband and said, “If you don’t do the dishes, I’m gonna wrestle you in this gator’s mouth!”

George casually walked into the vault. Sandra was scanning the passed-out teller’s hand into a tablet. The two of them received texts with lock box numbers, and they walked together, running palm ID bypass programs. George cautiously walked into the rodeo with another clown. A bucking bull nearly had the cowboy off his back. Sandra hunched over, watching two alligators emerge from the lake.

Tiffany knocked out a few tellers with the sonic solidifier as Dennis drained teller registers into his own tablet. Tiffany threw roses into the crowd around her, smiling wide and laughing. Dennis collected numbers from random, grinning men.

***

George, Dennis, Tiffany, and Sandra were all captured by the police. Fortunately for Doug, the oblivious robbers had uploaded money to offshore accounts, but couldn’t get the lock box stash to the drop off.

Doug calmly exited the rear of the van, only to be met by four cops with sonic solidifiers. “Freeze!” Before he could react, two cops restrained him, and a third ran a scanner over his scalp. “Yep. He’s wired, too.”

Doug asked, “Wired?”

The third cop slung his non-lethal rifle and pulled a thick cable from his vest. She wrapped it around Doug’s head. Reality rushed into Doug’s spotlight, his daydream broken. “Oh no. No. This can’t be real.”

The cops dragged Doug to the rear of their own van and put him in with George, Dennis, Tiffany, and Sandra. One cop entered and latched the door behind her. Everyone sat and stared at Doug.

George shook his head, “You used my fantasy to rob a bank?” The other three stared for the same answer.

Doug raised his cuffed hands to his head and said, “Hey, I was crowned too.”

Looks of surprise and doubt split the back of the van. Sandra leaned in, “Well what if you got away?”

“I don’t know. I thought I was a war hero on Mars.”

The cop shook her head. “Okay, all five of you, just go to Recall next time.”